


Bear Country

by JD_Riley



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Fluff, Frottage, Historical, M/M, Smut, Spoilers, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Riley/pseuds/JD_Riley
Summary: Arthur Morgan runs into wildlife photographer, Albert Mason, up in the snowy Grizzlies making the attempt to photograph a moose.  When the only majestic creature they encounter is a very hungry grizzly bear, Arthur has to do what he does best to save the hapless city-dweller yet again--but as Arthur accompanies the shaken man back to his cabin refuge with wounds that need tending, he discovers something far more dangerous than the bear is lurking in the shadows of his heart.





	Bear Country

It was goddamned cold. The snow was thick on the ground and made for tough travel, the Belgian's heavy steps trudging through despite without much complaint. As the flakes fell through the mid-afternoon and the sky was darkened in overcast, Arthur Morgan hunched his shoulders in his bison fur coat and wiggled his fingers, switching hands on the reins to keep them from becoming numb with chill. On days like this, it was rare to hear more than the eerie silence of muffling snow but this outlaw had better ears than most, pricking at every sound they could detect, even the subtle crunch of an elk's hoof in a well-packed snowbank.

Some sod down south had mentioned something about a horse like no other up near Lake Isabella and Arthur, never one to shy from a challenge, was ready to find her. He'd spent the whole of the early summer finding. Sometimes he'd found things he was looking for and other times he'd found things just by stumbling over them. He always tried to convince himself that whatever he found, he must have been looking for—like that oddball who hacked people up into pieces. Arthur had found all sorts of clues to find him...but had he _really_ been looking for him? Must have been...right? Or maybe that pale freak of nature way down in Saint Denis...another killer, he guessed...but a might awful-lookin' sort. This horse, he supposed, was a far less _lethal_ find...that was, if the grizzlies didn't find him first. With this amount of snowfall in May and June, those grizzlies were getting awfully hungry From what he remembered after having spent far too much time up in the mountains, there were some relatively safe places to set up a camp to get some shut eye but damned if he wasn't gonna have a difficult time keeping his toes warm if the snow kept on like this. The most important thing was to make sure his Belgian was comfortable though she seemed not to mind the snow very much, plowing through it almost as though she was made to. Perhaps, he thought, it was a waste of time finding this damned horse some drunk raved about.

The Belgian mare's ears flicked and her steps faltered as she sensed something foreign and odd. Arthur looked around, unable to see anything through the pines that signaled danger. He patted her neck and gave her a “good girl” to urge her forward cautiously though he soon found what she had perceived as odd.

“Well I'll be damned...” he muttered to himself, his brow raised at the sight of the now-familiar nature photographer with his camera set up toward an open and snowy section of river. He could feel his heart warm at the sight of the naïve but friendly photographer who was no doubt in danger yet again though he often did not fully realize it. Here he was in bear country, probably taking photos of rabbits. The gentleness of Albert Mason and his earnest nature were mostly what made Arthur like him so much. Arthur was fond of a few folk and willing to listen to most...but Mason seemed to turn up like a bad penny and every time he did, Arthur could feel an odd affection blooming in his heart.

He called out to the man, steering the Belgian in his direction.

“Well aren't you a sight! There are places nearer home ye coulda gone to get eaten by a bear.”

Mason startled easy and placed his hand over his heart as he turned around toward where Arthur sat on his horse. “God's graces, Mr. Morgan, I swear you must have become my guardian angel. Something terrible must be bound to happen and God has sent you to me yet again to save me from myself. The humble artist is again humbled.”

“I don't think anyone would make me someone's guardian angel,” Arthur chuckled, shaking out his hand to bring some feeling back into his fingers. “What'er you doin' out here in this godforsaken spot, huh?”

He smiled as if he knew—and surely he did—that Arthur wouldn't possibly ever come to understand his purpose. “Well don't you know it, Mr. Morgan, there are moose up here. They're shy critters but I've heard they like this particular spot and I think I've placed enough bait down there that they might just come have a nibble.”

“Well yer jus' askin' te have a _bear_ come and have a nibble o' you,” he replied, swinging his leg to remove himself from his saddle.

“I was hoping that I could avoid the lumbering masses of teeth. I assure you, Mr. Morgan, I didn't intend to become anyone's lunch this time...though I admit, I did think about it.”

“Then what've you got for protection?”

“Well, now I have you.”

Arthur couldn't help but let himself have a big grin at that. “You didn't just come up here for a day trip, I assume.”

“There's a small, structurally sound cabin at the lagoon. The whole of the drink is iced over thickly so there's no worry I'll fall through. I know you do worry about me, Mr. Morgan.” He glanced over toward Arthur again from the sight of his camera and then, when he found that Arthur was watching him, glanced away just as quickly. He had a curious little smile on his face that the outlaw was particularly interested in. For some fool reason, it made his heart beat a little harder.

“Maybe I'll stick around today until ye find yer moose. That's if ye find one.”

“Kind of you, Mr. Morgan. Well it shouldn't be long now, I was certain I'd spied a fairly large female just over yon—”

The quiet of the overcast afternoon was shattered as the Belgian took a distinct sidestep. Her ears went flat and Mason glanced up and then stood up straight, his arms pinned to his sides as sheer horror seeped into his expression. He was staring just past Arthur's shoulder and the outlaw swallowed, knowing just what was behind him. His horse bolted, screaming out her dismay and shock at encountering anything bigger than she and Arthur turned just in time to see the huge brown mass at full four-pawed run straight toward them. This was always when time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The gunslinger's eyes tracked every small movement as he drew his pistol in a smooth movement, the first shot one from the hip which caught the beast in the face, spraying out a fan of blood and only serving to further enrage it. It was a half-starved creature, no doubt for there was not much that could scare it and Arthur emptied the full six shots into it. Surely that would have to bring it down. Surely it would have to be enough.

It wasn't.

The bloody wet fur was steaming as the bear barreled straight into the outlaw without much finesse, knocking into his ribs and slamming him into the soft snow. The grizzly roared, opening its mouth to crunch down upon anything it could get into its huge maw but startled suddenly as a bright flash reflected from the pure white around them and dazzled it.

Taking advantage of its stunned state, Arthur quickly reached for his hunting knife, plunging the blue steel blade deep into the vulnerable underbelly of the monster above him. Ripping the animal open was his only choice and he grimaced hard as the bloody intestines of the poor bear slopped down over him. The grizzly roared its pain and confusion into the cold air and leaped from him, running haphazardly away from the two men until it could not struggle anymore and it collapsed some ways away, its last charge marked by the trail of blood that marred the snow.

He got up, looking down at himself and the obscene amount of blood on his clothes before he looked up at the creature, still and silent in the landscape while his ears rang from the gunshots. Taking these sort of events in stride was something he thought himself pretty good at so he nodded a bit, caught his breath, and then turned to Mason who was standing inert, the tray of used flash powder still in his hand.

“I believe...” Arthur breathed, “I should thank you, Mr. Mason. For saving my life.”

“S-Saving...” Mason stumbled out, his eyes still fixed on the rumpled bear.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, good-naturedly. “And I thought for sure you were definitely gonna be lunch one o' these days and here I am havin' been the damsel. What can I say but thank you?” He laughed again, his voice dry with the remnants of his adrenaline.

“Mr. Morgan...” Mason said, his eyes sharply moving toward Arthur, “I...” He dropped the flash tray. “You're hurt.”

It wasn't unheard of for him to take a few bumps and bruises, or even a cut or scrape when he was in the heat of the moment. He'd been grazed by and _hit by_ plenty of bullets in his time. It was only when someone pointed it out that you'd been struck that you really felt it. Now, Arthur felt it. It was a deep slashing wound in his upper arm and a fairly deep puncture next to it, closer to his shoulder. The grizzly must have nicked him when it was hurrying off him and even just a nick from a beast like this was enough to cause some serious damage. He looked down at the tear in his coat and the spread of his own warm blood. “Well. I can't get away from much unscathed these days, can I?” He was still smiling, trying to take the panic out of Mason's expression.

“This isn't good,” Mason blurted, looking around at his camera and his powder tray and the blood spatters in the snow. “This is isn't good, we've got to...we've got to b-bandage you up, Mr. Morgan, you can't just go around like this...”

“Calm yerself, Mason. I've got stuff in my bag that'll do for me.” He patted his satchel.

“N-No...I...come down to the lagoon, Mr. Morgan. There's enough wood there to stay for a little while and the heat stays well. I've got to know for certain that my guardian angel isn't going to up and die on me. You have to assure me, as I am surely the unassurable.”

“As if I know what that means...” Arthur mumbled, putting his lip against his teeth to whistle for the Belgian who came obediently, if not warily.

“Oh dear...” Mason fretted, looking about anxiously. “It seems my valiant steed has understandably scampered off.”

“We'll find 'im Mr. Mason. He can't have run too far.” In fact he hadn't, actually having come closer at the sound of Arthur's whistle. As Mason calmed the skittish horse and packed up his things, Arthur made certain the bleeding wasn't overly terrible and then moved to strip the damned bear of its pelt, wrapping it up to stow it on the back of his horse. With Mason and his _valiant steed_ packed up and ready, Arthur followed close behind to the iced over lagoon and was shocked to note just how small the dwelling was. “Mason, that place is tiny. Barely room for a bed.”

“It is small, no doubt, Mr. Morgan, but you can't possibly tend to those wounds elsewhere without a proper table and chair and the warmth to take off your...” He trailed off, sighing a bit and shaking his head at himself as Arthur stared at the back of his head. “You'll catch your death trying to take off your clothes outside in these conditions.”

“Comfort's never been somethin' I've passed over, I'll admit,” Arthur told him, dismounting and taking a moment to squeeze at his upper arm to distract himself from the stinging pain that had begun to irk him. He'd had plenty worse than this so the pain wasn't unmanageable...it was just that it was fresh and new. When he walked into the place, it was a wonder he didn't have to duck. There were embers still glimmering in the fireplace and there was a gentle warmth like that of a winter sun that clung to the wood despite the rush of cold that accompanied their entry.

Mason took a few logs from the side of the fireplace and tossed them in, blowing on the embers to breathe life into them before he turned to Arthur expectantly. “Sit down on the bed here, Mr. Morgan, we'll get a good look at you.”

The logs were dry and caught quickly, spreading warmth into the room as Arthur stripped off his coat and his other layers, peeling them away from his skin and casting a grimace over the state of them—coated in the blood of both him and his kill.

“Sorry about this...the mess...” he mumbled, lamenting that he was going to have to eventually put them back on.

“There's a pot around here and I've got a bar of soap,” Mason supplied helpfully, “We'll go ahead and scrub them...” He flitted around, grabbing the big iron pot and opening the door a bit to shovel some snow into it before he set it over the fire. He turned around again and sat in the chair, watching Arthur dig through his satchel to find the herbs he'd collected over the past few days and the bandages he always carried around.

Fashioning everything up nice, he chewed some of the herbs to make them into a paste which he slathered over the wounds before he wrapped them up with his bandages. Mason stared at him, observing the process with unabashed amazement before he took Arthur's clothes from the pile on the floor and then began to wash them with the heated water.

“You don't have to do that, Mr. Mason,” he said gruffly, tapping at his bandages to make certain they were settled properly. “I can wash my own clothes.”

“Oh no, you need to worry yourself about getting healed up, I can wash some clothes. I'm not completely useless, Mr. Morgan.”

He smiled, the warmth of the fire tingling over his flesh. “You know, you might just call me Arthur. Seein' as how sleepin' in this tiny shack will feel like we're fixin' to be an old married couple.”

Mason's face was pink in the light of the fire and he didn't reply, scrubbing at Arthur's clothes a little harder, finishing his task with an uncharacteristic silence. He hung them up to dry over the fireplace and then rubbed his palms on his trousers, his bottom lip between his teeth as he visibly thought of what they might talk about. “Uh...uhm...well Mr. Morgan...”

“Arthur.”

“A-Ar-Arthur.” He was studiously avoiding looking at Arthur's shirtless form as he sat on the bed, the task in this small cabin an arduous one that had put a lot of questions into the outlaw's mind. Why in the world was Mason acting like some smitten girl?

Realization suddenly dawned upon Arthur Morgan, shining over him like the golden sun shines over the poppies on a bright spring morning. Mason was acting like a smitten girl because Mason was a smitten _man_. Arthur wasn't born yesterday—he'd encountered this before. An odd, prickling sensation started to invade his hands and he recognized it as adrenaline. The last time a man had taken an interest in him, it had _not gone well._

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh...Mr. Mason...you ain't got any... _designs_ on me...do yah?”

Mason blinked, disgruntled and panicked almost. “Is—is it so obvious? Please don't take offense, Mr. Morgan, it's only that every time I've run into you, I've been so _impressed._ You're very...you're very much a man of the wild and...well you have to admit, it's got an attractive allure. I'm only a poor whisper of a man next to you and your perfectly crafted...” He swallowed, seeming to recognize that his prose was making Arthur shift oddly in his embarrassment. “...I can see this is uncomfortable for you. Yes. I...I suppose I do have designs on you but there's no reason I can't simply keep that all to myself, Mr. Morgan. You understand, I'm not some wild animal. I'm only a man and one who is...honestly...” his eyes softened and his voice became quiet and meek, “... _enthralled_ by you.”

Arthur felt his face ease into a humorless smile. “Well, Mr. Mason...I'm not of the mind that I really wanna go through somethin' like that again—”

“Again?” He perked, his brows shifting closer together in a furrow.

He felt his face heat and he blew out a breath. “Well...you see...I'm thinkin' I know what you're wantin' from me and there was this yeehaw down in the bayous that...well 'e got me on one o' my trustin' days and I wasn't sittin' right in the saddle for some time, you understand...”

Mason looked down at his hands. “Mr. Morgan...A-Arthur, that is...I don't think you know what I want from you at all.” He sighed sharply. “Really, Mr. Morgan, we don't have to have this discussion. This can stay in my own head forever and never see the light of day. Like I said, I am only a man...I am no animal and I certain am not the sort who would take advantage of a man's trust. I...I can only hope, since I am stuck in this cabin with you, as close as men can be in our circumstance, that you will not take offense to my...well, my _attraction_ to you. I swear to you, it is the greatest of compliments and one you need not take seriously in the least.”

“Hard not to take somemat like that serious.” He was consciously aware of his asshole clenching at the thought, though at least it was _Mason_ rather than some inbred hick luring trusting men like Arthur down in the bayous. At least it was the as yet honorable wildlife photographer...one who wasn't so hard on the eyes. Still, he couldn't say he was keen to get knocked out and railed in some dingy bed all over again...no matter who by.

Mason ran a hand through his hair, appearing far more than nervous. “Mr. Morgan, I should very much like to leave the Grizzlies alive. To narrowly escape one bear and to be mauled by the next is not something I think I would enjoy.”

“I'm not gonna hurt'cha,” Arthur replied with a sigh. “Jus' as long as you ain't gonna hurt me.”

“Hurting you has never been on my mind, Mr. Mor—Arthur. I assure you. If anyone was going to leave here sitting sore in the saddle...well...it would be me. That was...” His face was fully flushed in the warm orange light from the fire. “...if I had my way.”

That certainly caught the outlaw off guard. Men like Albert Mason were always going to be a mystery to him, he decided. How a man could ever find what had happened to him pleasurable, he couldn't know. But then again, he supposed, just like with the ladies, it must have depended on the partner. It had been so long since he'd had _anyone_ that the prospect of even coming close to someone had produced in him a kind of sick feeling—anyone he had ever met had paled in comparison to the shining star that had been Mary Linton. But now? In the cold, snowy mountains with a warm fire and a small bed beneath him, he couldn't believe that he was actually considering Albert Mason. He must have gone plumb crazy.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and gave another sigh. “You know, I've gotta be absolutely out of my damned mind, Mason. One hundred percent I must be _out of my mind_.”

“W-what does that mean?” the man asked him, taking a shuffling step backwards toward the door.

“I guess it means I'm gonna give you whatever it is you want.”

He appeared dumbfounded for a moment, his eyes wide on Arthur's face and, for perhaps the first time in his life, his speech halted.

“Well?” Arthur asked softly. “You gonna tell me what you want me to do?”

“I...” He retook his shuffling step forward. “I...I just...could you...uhm...”

“Listen, Mason—”

“Let me put you in my mouth.”

That shut him up real quick. No woman had ever suggested something so lewd to him and certainly they never would have said it out loud. Yeah, o'course the saloon girls might do things like that behind closed doors but Arthur hadn't ever had anyone suggest it, much less _do it_. He felt almost like he was a boy again, feeling embarrassed about things and naïve, wondering what in the world was in store for him even as he felt blood rushing down to his groin to stiffen him despite all his insistence to himself that he didn't find _men_ attractive. Obviously his body held other opinions and he found himself nodding, almost slack-jawed at the suggestion.

Mason wasted no time in dropping to his knees on the cold wooden floor of the warm cabin, his fingers coming between Arthur's thighs to unfasten his jeans, jerking them down his hips until he was free and hissing as the cooler air met his turgid length. “ _Arthur..._ ” Mason murmured as he gently cradled it, eying it like a man would a favorite whore.

“It ain't that impressive,” Arthur mumbled, his face burning. He couldn't stand to watch anymore, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes, the loss of his sight only making the anticipation far more intense.

“Don't you know I'm an expert in two things, Arthur Morgan: wildlife and men...and so far nothing I've ever noted from you has been _un_ impressive.”

His face felt tight and his brows were furrowed hard. “I guess I just don't understand what it is that makes you...you know...”

“The mysterious work of a relentless and humorous God,” he sighed, his breath warm as it puffed over Arthur's most sensitive aspect. It was all he would offer before Arthur hissed in a hard breath at the first touch of patient and giving lips. Mason teased him with his tongue, sliding up and down the underside of him and making small circles just where he needed them most before the whole hot cavern of his mouth descended over him and created a tight seal.

“ _Mason..._ ” Arthur growled, his hand moving to grip the man's short hair. It had been so long. So long since anyone had touched him with such veneration and gentleness. The closest most people came to Arthur Morgan was a brushing kiss to his face—usually just after a bath. He wasn't fool enough to believe the girls who teased in the bath were interested in anything he had to say or interested at all in what was between his legs.

The erotic sound of the photographer's mouth over him amid the crackles of the fire was enough to make him breathe heavy and his belly twitched with every sweep of an errant tongue. Mason only let him go with a wet kiss to the underside of his head to urge him to lay back on the bed, his hands surprisingly soft for a man as he ran his fingers over Arthur's stomach, playing over the hair which led in a heavy trail down to his stiff and reaching manhood. Gripping him by the base, Mason continued to suck him, sliding him as far down his throat as he could before he hummed, the vibrations and the sound itself causing Arthur to take his cheek between his teeth to keep quiet. His fingers gripped the edges of the small mattress, his knuckles white and his hands straining.

When Mason let him go again, he wanted to sob and beg for him to continue—he couldn't be left like this, hard and desperate and panting, rendered more than vulnerable in the wilderness.

“Arthur...” the man croaked thickly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don't want to startle you...I just want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good.”

He let himself have a grin while he covered his eyes with his hand, his voice filled with grit in its breathlessness. “Well yer doin' a might fine job of it so far...don't let me stop yah.”

Arthur heard Mason's buckle unfasten and he clenched, his body tense the thought that he'd gotten himself too far into this to back out now. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the man straddle him, pressing down with his hips until the both of them were pressed tight together. Arthur's wet cock was rigid against his lower tummy and hot against Mason's own shaft.

“I...” Arthur gasped, “I won't pretend to know what—” He couldn't finish, simply allowing for Mason's movements with his hips, back and forth, keeping them pressed together for that necessary friction. “ _Uhn..._ ” he ground out, deep and hungry. He didn't much care at all that this was odd or strange—that this _man_ was holding him, rocking against him with his eyes shut tight in lust. Mason continued with small thrusts against him as he shed his waistcoat and shirt, tossing them to the floor and coming down closer to him.

“Can I hold you, Arthur?”

“Don't ask...”

Mason didn't speak further, touching him over his shoulders and chest, moving down until he could share in Arthur's heat, his hips still working back and forth as he puffed heavy breaths into his ear. His movements quickened, becoming desperate jerks as they both made short and soft masculine sounds of their mutual pleasure.

It was novel, Arthur thought as his breath caught and his body tensed, his hands reaching up to clutch at Mason's body, holding him close and tight as his climax ripped through him. It was so novel to have found this man high up in the snowy wilderness, to have forgotten so suddenly his wounds that were so fresh. To have found warmth in another man. It certainly wasn't something he'd considered before but now? Now it was almost a shame that he would have to leave.

_Eventually._

Mason grunted out his orgasm, a thick rope of stickiness pooling and mingling with Arthur's own spend between them. His gentle fingers delved into Arthur's hair and his cheek pushed against the outlaw's temple, his pants hard with his exertion.

“ _Arthur..._ ”

They held each other, waiting for their heartbeats to slow from pounding, rushing, _wanting._ Arthur's shoulder ached but he couldn't be bothered by it. Not when the whole of him was thrumming with energy. He pushed his face against Mason's jaw, the aroma of the oil in his beard and the smokey scent of firewood a great comfort as he wordlessly sought the man's mouth, finally catching his bottom lip when he turned his head in his curiosity. Despite being caught off guard for a moment, the photographer wholeheartedly gave in, responding in kind when Arthur delved and teased and sucked and nibbled. Their kiss was heated, long, and infinitely sweet, the act far more intimate, he thought, than what they had just completed in _making love._

This was nothing like Arthur had thought and he was not shocked to find out that Mason had been right when he'd suspected as much. He kissed until the emotion and drive for it faded a bit and his lover sank his head down into the lumpy pillow beside his head.

His voice was graveled though soft. “I sure didn't expect it to be quite like this.”

“I hope,” Mason replied, the sound of him muffled by the pillow before he turned his lips against Arthur's temple to speak, “that by your reaction, you mean to say that it was nice. Because it was very nice for me, Mr. Morgan...Arthur. Forgive me, but I have been wanting you since moment I took that first photograph of you...”

He chuckled a bit below him. “I'd barely said five words to yah.”

“You are a compelling and wild creature. You cannot know how passionate you make me.”

“I think I just witnessed it.”

Mason laughed above him. “I suppose I should ask if you're still considering our sleeping arrangements for this evening. If you are then might I make a suggestion?”

Arthur was smiling, his grip on Mason tightening just a smidgen. “ _Together_ , Mr. Mason?”

“Albert, if you would. And yes. That was going to be the suggestion.”

“I think that'd be just fine, Albert. _Just fine._ ” That horse could wait a little longer to be found, he thought warmly as Albert reached for a small rag to clean them both up. He admired the slight musculature of Albert Mason through hooded eyes until the photographer caught his gaze.

“You're looking at me as though you might wish to devour me, Arthur.” His cheeks were a dusty rose in the dim light of the fire.

“Took you long enough to become some animal's supper. Fitting that animal should be me.”

He chuckled nervously, reaching for the heavy wool blanket that was folded at the end of the bed, bringing it up to cover them both and keep their heat together. As he settled down again, letting his head rest in the nook of Arthur's shoulder, he murmured his response, an easy purr that tickled the hair on the outlaw's chest. “Well. Being mauled by this bear wasn't so bad after all, I suppose.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe one day I'll write something where they fuck on this bearskin rug.


End file.
